


Today

by Murmures1234



Series: Terror Inside Companion Pieces [6]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/pseuds/Murmures1234
Summary: Ever wondered what the final push was for Peter to leave the CIA-Read this and you will find out.Part of "The Terror Inside" and "Chasing Haqqani" AU. Warning, gives away the ultimate end of Chasing Haqqani series.





	Today

Ever wondered what the final push was? Why Quinn made moves to leave? Read this, and you will know.  
(Part of “The terror inside” and end sequel to “Chasing Haqqani”). 

When he walked out of the airport in Washington (god, it had been nice to travel as a civilian for a few days, he must remember to send Astrid a thankyou gift this time), the man in a suit was waiting for him. 

Special forces, from somewhere, clearly. 

“You here to bring me in?” Peter asked. 

“No,” a letter was handed over.

The man left, melting into the crowd. 

Peter just stood there, shell shocked. 

After going off grid like that, he was a sure-fire candidate for “re-education”, he thought. He thought he’d signed his own death warrant. 

He hadn’t realised that Dar Adal still cared about him. He hoped that wasn’t why he was being let off. 

Fuck. The thought of it made him sick. He’d almost rather have been “re-educated.” 

The letter was in his hand. He didn't recognise the script. People didn't hand write these days. 

It certainly wasn't Dar's though. Weird. 

Curiosity killed the cat. He tore the letter open, only thinking shortly about the fact it could be a nerve agent. But not caring. 

_  
“Dear Peter Quinn,_

_It's me. Fara. It sounds so strange to say that. Writing after death has taken me. It’s odd._

_You may be surprised to know, I decided that you should be the recipient of my letter. Well… the letter the CIA knew about. I mean, I’m not sure why anyone couldn’t figure out that I can leave letters elsewhere. Max will receive his through his door 7 days after his return to the USA, my father will receive his at the Mosque._

_But I thought it was right you should have my CIA letter Peter. My goodbye note. I’ve never been sure if you’d written one. Maybe, when I was a kid, was yours addressed to me?_

_I doubt it, somehow. You’re stupid, brother. I suppose every little Sister thinks their big brother is stupid, but really. You kind of take the biscuit a little bit sometimes! The fact you never viewed yourself as worthy of my love. Of my father’s. Of anyone’s. Even though you risked it all to save me, a little girl. I was seven years old yes, but I was nothing to you. Just another face in a seemingly endless face of the War in Iraq. Even now, Papa tells me how he thanked you, and you said “anyone would have done it.”_

_That, Peter, is what is so remarkable about you. You’re so selfless, you put everyone first, just thinking that it’s what people do, but it isn’t. You didn’t have to do that, you certainly didn’t have to chase across Iraq when I was recaptured by Haqqanis’ men. You didn’t have to arrange a visa for me and Papa. You didn’t have to be there at my high-school graduation. You didn’t have to do any of it, but you did. And I’m so grateful._

_I know you are feeling sad, I know you are feeling guilty. I know all of it. I could see it in your face, from the moment I walked through the door after the bombing at Langley. You didn’t want the darkness to touch me, like it touched you. But the truth of it is, when I joined, I was proud. I wanted to be like you, to be a hero._

_And in a way, I am proud. I died for my country, the country of the angel that saved me that day, when the sun was beating out of me. The country of the angel that tore apart Iraq to find me. And I did well, I think. In a small way. I’m not happy that Javadi was sent back to Iran, but the other stuff I’m proud of.  
The organisation though, I’m not proud of that, and I don’t think you are, either Peter Quinn. I think you’re fed up, and you have been for a long time. You can’t balance the weight of the deeds they make you do in your soul anymore. _

_And to be honest, when I found Rob, and found out what Dar Adal had done to you, I wasn’t surprised you were struggling. And I’m not talking how you were recruited, not only that, I’m talking about having to give up Julia, Johnny, being forced back in so often, and for so many years._

_So this is it, Peter Quinn, my brother._

_A long time ago, you saved my life, my soul. You gave me hope, freedom._

_My Papa told you, “He who saves a life, it as is as if he has saved the whole world”._

_And now, I hope to return the favour. And maybe I too will save the world, and make up for some of the harm I've had a hand in while I've been in the CIA._

_I know you might be surprised that this letter has reached you. That I even wrote it. Islamabad was supposed to be pretty safe.  
But I wrote it the minute I knew we were dealing with Haqqani._

_I had a feeling things might end up this way; there’s only so many times I could encounter the devil and escape._

_This was one too many (and please, please stop beating yourself up)._

_But I had a chance meeting with Rob a few weeks before deployment. I bumped into him in the corridor. He didn't recognise me, not at first. But I insisted on a discussion outside. I could see the change in you in the few years since you've last seen me and Papa. Since the whole messed up Iran situation._

_So we went for a run, and honestly, I hate Rob a little bit. I know hate is a strong word, and I know he's your friend. But I think he's a very selfsish, self-centered little man, and I don't think he's a real friend Peter. He did tell me a few things though. For example, you might not be aware, but there is a recording of the night that Dar Adal recruited you. Honestly, I felt like a Catholic Priest, everything he told me._

_But anyhow, said recording is now in my possession (well, not technically, but I am dead). It's somewhere (I won't say where, incase Dar reads this letter), It's pretty unreachable, in the bowels of my computer. And a series of unnamed people (that I'm sure you can figure out) have very specific instructions._

_Upon the update of my death on the computer records, Dar Adal was sent a short clip of it, with a warning. That he needed to let you out, let you leave, or the rest of it would become very public knowledge._

_Have no doubt, if you are reading this letter, Dar Adal is letting you go free._

_Use it Peter._

_Use it. Please. Be selfish, for once in your life._

_I want you to laugh, and cry, and dance with the sun on your face. I want you to sleep, without fear. I want you to ski, to go to the mountains you told me about all those years ago. Make snow angels._

_And take risks Peter. Take risks. I want you to tell Carrie you love her. Love is precious. It is a gift from god. Drag her out if you have to, but somehow, I think, after Islamabad, she will be done too. She loves you too, even if she’s too damned dense to realise it. The problem is, neither of you think you’re worthy of love.  
(Hahaha. I can see your face now, *of course* I figured you out. You’re my brother, although we share no blood. I read you like an Open book!). _

_So this is it Peter. Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel Sad. You gave me and Papa years in peace, laughing, crying and dancing with the sun on our face. Sleeping without fear. Hopefully now, I have done the same for you. Tell Carrie you love her, that’s my only request._

_Yours Faithfully, your little Sister in all but blood,_

_Fara Sherazi._

_(P.S. When I told Papa I worked with you, he made me promise to invite you to Eid. He said you hadn’t been for too long. I’m pretty sure the offer will still stand regardless of the current circumstances, and the Curry at the new Mosque IS excellent)._

_P.P.S. if you mope, I will haunt you.  
_

And Peter just stood there, reading his letter, tears rolling down his face. 

God. Even after all those years, he underestimated Fara Sherazi. What a little superstar he’d saved in the desert that day. Even years later he’d not been 100% why he’d done it. Tried to disarm a bomb with just a knife. But he knew why, after him and Rob had chased her across Iraq after he recapture. She had such spark, such fire. She was so intelligent. What a woman she'd grown to become. 

She was everything he’d ever dreamed it would be like to have family. 

He couldn’t believe it. He was so _so_ Sad that she was dead. But she'd given him the most incredible gift anyone had ever given him. 

Today, for the first time in years, he had hope. 

A stranger bumped into him with his bag, saying “I’m Sorry,” before pausing to look at Peter Quinn’s face. 

“Are you ok?” The stranger asked, taking in the tears in his eyes, rolling down this man’s face, the letter in his hands. 

A small smile crossed Peter’s face, as he made eye contact with the stranger. 

“Actually, I am. Thanks.” 

The sun was shining. 

Peters smile grew wider. 

“Good news?” The stranger asked.

Peter nodded. 

“I’m glad. Anyhow, flight to catch, must be off.” 

“Safe travels.” Peter responded. The weight was lifting off his shoulders. He felt almost light. Free. 

The stranger moved forward, and Peter stepped towards the Taxi rank, hailing one down. 

The sun was shining. 

He was on American Soil. 

And finally, he was on his way out. 

He looked at his watch. 

He still had time to make it to Carries Dad’s funeral. To be there for the women he loved. To take a risk. 

Today. Today he would smile, and laugh, and dance. With the sun on his face. Today he would take a risk. 

Today, he had a future. Today, he had hope. 

Today.


End file.
